We think the Don’s sort of brain dead
Trump morphs in his coffin-like bed
We wish he had heart
But he lacks that part
Just like Mister Potato Head
No vaccine for that which we dread?
Venereal ill he will spread
He loves a big stick
But without a dick
He is Mister Potato Head
At the vanity I sit
While my radio plays hits
A blank canvas stares back
Time for some beauty hacks
I hope the gods can hear my pleas
As I sit here and try to tweeze
An eyebrow shape that isn’t messy
Not too shabby, not too dressy
Some mascara and primer
And just a little bit of liner
A swipe of cherry lip gloss
I apply it in a cross cross
Dab, cover up, and powder
I turn my music up louder
It’s not just habitual
It’s a daily ritual
A repetitive task
Just to put on a mask
But it makes me feel good
Quite more than it should
I squeeze into a skinny dress
Beauty is a pain I guess
Even so, I’ll still impress
I’m not even gonna stress
Because even when I’m a mess
I gotta say I still look blessed
Just need a bit of setting spray
And I’m ready to take on the day
Eyeshadow specks gracing the floor
Glitter and gemstone diamonds galore
I glance at the mirror as I walk out the door
I’m looking my best but who’s keeping score
On a warm, dew-weakened day,
Watching the grey void of a lost
Sense, anxious moments recline
On whiffs of ancestral propitiations
When rafters regain possession of
Filched roast fish, balanced with
The fumes of a wild dance heckled
By chokes of a chagrined weekend.
Who rises faster than smokes of a
Low tar, ascending
Gently,
Whimsically,
Lazily,
With rings of white life
Extinguished through banalities,
Through clamoured waste? . . .
Such rise — gay, sensuous rise
Of the thin beam,
Goes with every thread of meaning
Long since posted on the banner of
Meaningful dreams.
Forgiving is easy
for those not directly
offended -- like, you
can’t sell love to the
loveless – no need.
Be a professor and
have a captive kingdom --
the real world outside of
Tenure. No tomatoes
tossed vs a good grade.
Win the aim
but lose the war.
The red pen hovers like a hawk,
its beak sharp with erasure.
Words are stripped of their fever,
left pale, bloodless, trembling.
A thought, once naked,
is swaddled in gauze—
so the wound won’t offend.
The page shivers in silence.
I watch my tongue,
tethered in the mouth’s dark stall.
A candle tries to speak in flame,
but the wax floods its throat.
Behind the curtain,
the truth grows mildew,
while the official story
shines like polished bone.
In vanity, we inquire into the empty heavens
And witness only birds hunting
In vanity, we dive into the sea and the earth
And discover just bones rotting
In vanity, we read the writings of the learned
And find their footsteps decaying
Within you, behind all the clothing of words
Look, and behold the eternal tree of knowledge
Whose fruits are mankind's untainted ideas
And rests within our hand's reach, beyond the world's edge
Inspired by a passage from "The Principles of Human Knowledge" by the Irish philosopher George Berkeley, near the end of the work's introduction.
The sun shone in bewilderment,
Scornfully it scorch,
As Rose plead her fifth amendment,
Her good nature made a strife,
Lea smirk in disdain ,
Saith her world has ended.
Twice fairer than Lea,
In Lea heart lies deceit,
She whispers in Rose ear,
Come and sit, where Serpent hisses,
I will smother thee with kisses,
Honey lies secrets not known,
In Lea lives the honey.
Thrice shy, Rose smiled,
Shame to nymphs, her beauty adorns,
Alluring nature, men confuse,
The Serpent hold the kisses,
“Come, let’s dine with the devil” she said.
My table is set for thee, Lea.
Vanity and Vain
The end is only a farce
The beginning is far away
There is only a vacuum
A hollow voidancy
Life is vain
A floating lily
hovering in futility
Seeking a transient haven
Settling my tomorrow today
Is it a furnace of coal?
Is it a bottomless well?
Is it the night of my soul?
Is it as unsafe as hell?
Is it might in its fullness?
From it, couldn't I return?
Is it death in absurdness?
Here, would I endlessly burn?
Do days, in it, look like nights?
Is it a whirlpooling sea?
Grief here, they say, like snakes, bites.
Is it a death trap in me?
It is my psyche's dark nook.
It's a poison-flowing brook.
We die a little bit
Each day and each night
As we live every minute
Gleeful or glum under the light.
We die in our sleep
And rise again if we’re lucky
And blessed. This is deep
Few people are truly canny or savvy.
Believe not in all the glitters
When it’s time to go or to depart
Gravity behaves like deadly creatures.
We die every day and every night
A little mum or sharp under the weight
As darkness exists deep in the heart.
Copyright © July 2025 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
my skin doesn't fit me.
it looks like it does from afar
but its all gooey and
it doesn't hug me in all the right ways.
but then again is it like that
for everyone or are my senses undeceiving?
is it tailored for everyone but
me?
or is it imposter syndrome and its just my
desire to be
diFferent"
i will know once i'm inside the skin of
another
until then i will feel unsolved and lost
never forgiving my flesh for being a
bad
foundation.
The vanity of youth is at it’s height
when its weight is carried light.
It’s an accidental manifestation
of another’s envious estimation.
It’s lasting value, less than a mirage,
disappears with bitterness into old age.
To those who took the lie for truth
when told in their vanity of youth
must now in beauty’s absence live
a lie impossible to forget or forgive.
Labubu grins, a curious work of art,
Kasing Lung’s dream, brought forth from the heart.
Pop Mart displays, collecting carts start,
Lisa’s embrace gives trends a new chart.
People of faith, consider your part,
Not every craze should capture your heart.
Fame’s shining lure can pull us apart,
Discernment and wisdom must always take part.
Enjoy what is lovely, but don’t let it chart
A course that could lead your soul to depart.
The world may entice with treasures and art,
But truth and love must anchor your heart.
Let light be your guide, not just what is smart,
For faith is the truest and timeless art.
Every breath you take isn't good to take lightly
Every near death experience teaches that slightly
We're shown love from our friends and families constantly in every way
We take their presence for granted thinking they'll be there everyday
We take our five senses for granted and don't view them as gifts
We live life like its guaranteed and never think about what if's
Our lives are lived but not promised to no one
But we take risk and take chances with life just for fun
We think we're invincible and nothing can happen to us
We have youngsters into drugs exploring for that quick rush
We hold a grudge and stay angry with those who mean the most
Not realizing life is too short and we should be holding them close
We take things for granted because its part of our imperfection
But we lose life as quick as we gain it so you make the connection
Specific Types of Vanity Poems
Definition | What is Vanity in Poetry?
Poems Related to Vanity
pride, arrogance, narcissism, self love, show, ostentation, pretension, airs, vainglory, affectation, display, ego trip, conceitedness, smugness, self worship, big headedness, self admiration, showing off,